


Day Eighteen: Fight

by AfinaArchives



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Voidtember2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfinaArchives/pseuds/AfinaArchives
Summary: Feralas, on the eve of Spring was bathed in burgundy.
Relationships: None
Collections: Voidtember2019





	Day Eighteen: Fight

Feralas, on the eve of Spring was bathed in burgundy.

The clang of steel and taste of blood was heavy upon the air as the Alliance and Horde engaged in combat within the overgrown fortress of Dire Maul. Combat for honor, combat for glory, but most importantly combat for a stone above all others. A stone above kings, a stone above nations, a stone which would surely change worlds.

Azerite.

The chromatic mineral had surfaced weeks earlier in the scorched remains of Silithus, the lifeblood of Azeroth pooling in welts as she cried for the help of her inhabitants. She begged for her scars to be allowed to heal. To rest. Her cries remained unanswered. The blood flowed gold, it flowed blue, it flowed purple, it flowed green, it flowed red. It flowed. It pooled in the forest’s roots as the factions fought petty scuffles for a taste of Azeroth’s power. Fires engulfed the verdant canopies as spell casters invoked magics of disorder in a folly effort to turn the flames of war. Soot and smoke choked the air; the blinding dense clouds overtaking the Horde within moments much to the joyful pleasure of the Alliance present. Within that clouded haze, members of the Sunguard’s back lines clung together. Back to back, Suncasters and Dawnmenders stood. Watching, waiting for the next blow.

All Afina saw was a flash of gold, her body moving before the Dawnmender’s almost instantly.

The smaug which choked her lungs was not all that brought tears to her eyes as the paladin ripped out her blade. She did not register the wound even as her arms slapped to her chest to hold something in. She did not register why she could not breathe as she choked back a cry. She did not register an arm reaching out to grab her. She did not register as she was pulled back by the Dawnmender’s brother, a trail following them.

The world, its people, their anger, their armor, the blood upon her hands and spilling from her chest to the ground below.

Her vision wained, and all that was was only red.


End file.
